


Words Suck (I Know)

by tvvinkqueen



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Awkward Derek Hale, Awkward Stiles Stilinski, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Making Out, Photographer Stiles, Riding, Smut, Top Derek Hale, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Wedding, also they're both simultaneously confident and awkward, not derek and stiles tho, sterek, they are guests, wedding guests - Freeform, what are emotions, who really shouldn't have banged on laura's wedding night smh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 11:11:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8622325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tvvinkqueen/pseuds/tvvinkqueen
Summary: “Um, you’re-“ he starts. Derek makes a little ‘huh’ sound in the back of his throat, cutting him off.
  “What?”  “You’re blocking the doorway.”  “Oh.”  “Yeah.”orDerek is a mess. Stiles is a mess. They're both at Laura's wedding. Sex things happen.





	

**Author's Note:**

> the title is a play on words from all the small things by blink-182 i make myself laugh i love puns
> 
> this was #inspired by the fact that i went to my cousin's wedding in august and one of the photographers was fine af and this is like...... what i wish would've happened. but then i was like bruh, sterek tho.
> 
> pls note this was not beta'd but i tried to find as many mistakes as i could but u can only reread things (esp 9k things) so many times before u just start to overlook them so i'm sure i'll find it eventually, just ignore it for now if it looks like a 4 year old wrote this.

There’s mud. Like, _a_ _lot_ of mud, and Derek silently curses his sister for deciding that the love of her life would have to be some guy who grew up in bum-fuck nowhere a thousand miles outside of Beacon Hills, because that called for an outdoor wedding in a field in the middle of nowhere (to _connect to his roots_ and all that shit) and a lot of dirt caking the bottom of his shoe the minute he steps out of his car.

Sure, it was only the parking lot (which was a field, actually, hence the muck) that seemed to be the most affected mud-wise, but still, a warning would have been nice. Maybe just a short text from Laura that stated, “Hey, you know, this is outdoors. The spot you’re parking the cars at might be muddy. Wear accommodating shoes and not your fanciest dress pair.”

Scowling, Derek lifts his leg up to look at the bottom of his _Meermin_ (fucking _expensive_ ) shoe and checks the damage, bracing himself on the hood of his car with a hand to shake the excess mud off the side and carefully scrape it off on his car. That he didn’t care too much about – he could easily wash his car later without destroying the quality.

Unlike his shoes.

“Derek, come help your Uncle with the ice.” His mother’s voice comes from beyond the fence on the other side of his car and he looks up with his brows raised, motioning towards his feet like it was obvious.

Talia glances down and gives him a _look_ , not a hint of concern on her face when she makes eye contact with her son again. “You can wipe your shoes, along with that look, off your face when you get in the house. It’s just mud, Derek.”

Derek rolls his eyes, straightens up, and does his best to walk through the few patches of dirty ground, thanking his subconscious for tailoring his slacks so that they stopped at his ankle rather than a half break; had they been a half break his suit would have been ruined too and who knows how much more damage he could have taken after that.

He smiles anyways when he reaches Talia, giving her a quick hug and stopping to look her over. It wasn’t often he saw his mother dressed up, her hair curled and makeup done, flowy red dress on and gold jewelry on her wrists and around her neck. She looked radiant, and Derek squeezes her hands lovingly.

“You look good,” he tells her truthfully, watching the smile stretch across her cheeks.

“I know,” she muses, and he takes a turn to roll his eyes. “You look good in a suit, Derek.”

“I know,” Derek mocks, looking past her shoulder to where the guest house (and where he’s sure Laura and Cora, along with her husband-to-be and all the other bridesmaids and groomsmen were getting ready) is, searching. “Where’s Peter?”

“Inside the tent unloading the ice into bins. He needs more bags brought out from his truck so like I said, go help him out.”

Nodding, he gives Talia one last squeeze before stepping around her and towards the house, a small two story building with yellow siding and white trim. It was cute, he supposes, walking past it to the backyard area where there was a large tent set up, only the roof draped with a white fabric. The sides were left open and airy, and through the posts on the other side he can see the set up where Laura would be officially wedded, rows and rows of chairs around a long white sheet that led to the wedding arch that was adorned with colorful flowers.

He spots his Uncle Peter amongst the few scattered people walking around almost immediately, lugging bags from where the latch to the back of his truck is open.

He doesn’t seem to notice Derek’s presence as Derek makes his way towards him, sneaking up on his side to grab the bag Peter was carrying over his shoulder.

“Need help?” he asks, taking the bag from him anyways and watching the surprised expression on his uncle’s face as he lets out a breath of air.

“Shit, yeah.” Peter hands Derek the other bag as well and heads back to his truck for more. “You can empty those into the bins and start filling them up right away,” he calls out, grunting a little as he struggles to reach the ice further back in the bed. “Put water bottles in two of them and soda, beer, and wine coolers in the other three.”

Derek gives a little disinterested noise in response, doing as he was told. It didn’t take long for them to finish, and when they do they stand side by side with their hands on their hips, looking at their work proudly, like it was such a stressful task they finally accomplished.

“So,” Derek starts, turning to look at Peter. “I should probably go clean this shit off my shoe.”

Peter grimaces and looks down at their feet, noting the mud that’s starting to cake up and dry on Derek’s shoes and nods.

“You probably should.”

“I’ll see you in a few minutes.” Derek claps Peter’s shoulder once and makes his way into the house, the rickety screen door creaking when he opens it. The inside was just as cozy as the outside, a living room to the right and kitchen to the left, stairs just ahead. Simple. He spots Alex, the groom, standing off to the side in the living room near the dining table and talking to who he presumed to be the best man.

He didn’t know much about Alex, only that Laura had met him at one of her company’s parties and he worked for another big cooperation on the other side of the city. A plethora of clichés later and they fell in love, got engaged, and began planning their wedding all within a year. No one was really shocked when Laura came home with a ring on her finger and a shit-eating grin on her face, hand held high in the air to show it off while she danced around the house obnoxiously.

Derek was happy for her. She deserved it.

He wouldn’t say he was jealous, not really. Derek tried relationships, had his fair share of girlfriends in high school and a few serious relationships in his early twenties that ended quite disastrous, if he may be overdramatic and say so himself. It had been a good four years since he’d last tried dating anyone seriously before he’d just given up and relied on random hookups to get him by. That was just Derek, and for the moment, that’s how he liked it.

Jealous? No. Hopeless? Kind of.

It’s not like he really cared, either. Derek had plenty of opportunities to go on second dates with the men and women in his life, could stop with the late night clubbing and stop bringing unknown people home, but he didn’t want to. Didn’t have time, didn’t want to put in the effort. Who cared? Not Derek.

 _Not_ Derek.

“Hey, man, could you tell me where the bathroom is?” Derek doesn’t remember when he had made the steps towards Alex, but somehow in the midst of all his thoughts there he was, standing next to the man his sister was going to be wed to. It’s the first time he’s been around the guy since Christmas, eight months ago. It’s a bit weird.

Alex nods upstairs, flashing Derek a smile, pink gums poking out more than average. “Yeah it’s upstairs. First door on your right. You’re Laura’s brother, right? Derek?”

Giving a nod, Derek lets his teeth show with a grin. “Yeah, it’s been a few months.”

“It’s been more than a few months, come here.”

Awkwardly, Alex pulls Derek in for a hug and he can’t do much else other than pat the guy’s back, making a face to the wall behind him. He gives him two small taps, retreating quickly and letting out a short laugh.

“Yeah, um. I’m gonna go, to the bathroom. Thanks. I’ll see you soon.”

Trying to give Alex the most genuine smile he can, he turns on his heel and takes the stairs two at a time, going for the door handle to the bathroom right away and turning it, finding it locked. Just his luck. He knocks, waiting for some sort of response.

It’s silent until a few seconds later when the door opens and the sound of the toilet refilling with water gets louder.

“Oh, man. You gotta watch out for that handle. You have to like, shake it a few times after you flush or else that water will not go down, trust me. I think I just spent the last five minutes damn near taking that toilet apart before I figured out what the hell was wrong with it.”

Derek stands in the doorway, slightly dumbfounded because of two reasons, both of them having to do with the fact that he gets a little _stupid_ - _drunk_ when around people he thinks are attractive and _entirely_ fuckable. That was the first reason. The second was the immediate outburst as soon as that kid opened the door, like he was ready to tell his life story to the first person he saw, and that person was Derek.

Derek doesn’t realize he’s gawking at him, though, his version of gawking looks a bit more like glaring, and the kid is staring back at him with his face in a screwed up expression. A beautiful, screwed up expression, brows full and arched over his forehead, lips slightly parted like he wants to say something but he’s still trying to figure out what that something should be.

It ends up being a quick “You alright?” and a flick of his eyes over Derek’s body.

The words wake Derek from his daze, and suddenly he’s catapulted back into reality and metaphorically shoving his tongue back into his mouth.

“Yeah.”

“Huh.”

Derek has been staring long enough to notice the tiny moles decorating his skin, entirely too pale like he hasn’t seen a lick of daylight in over a year, the color contrasting against the dark hair styled messily atop his head in a way that somehow works for him. The suit he has on is black like Derek’s, but a bit baggier, and Derek knows it’s wrong but he’s craving to find out what’s underneath.

Grabbing a bulky looking bag from the countertop, he slings it over his shoulder and looks at Derek expectantly.

“Um, you’re-“ he starts. Derek makes a little ‘huh’ sound in the back of his throat, cutting him off.

“What?”

“You’re blocking the doorway.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

\---

“Alex if that’s you I swear to god I’ll- Derek?”

Clean shoes and all, Derek pokes his head into the only door in the hallway that was closed, where he assumed Laura was getting ready. Cora was there too, sitting on the bed in her yellow bridesmaid dress and doing a great job at hiding how grumpy she was about it. Erica is there too, fixing up Laura’s hair and making sure nothing was missing or out of place.

“Good, you’re here,” Erica says, holding up a comb and holding it above Laura’s face like she’s ready to clonk her over the head with it. “Tell her to stop freaking out.”

“Yeah,” Cora teases, “It’s just a _wedding_ after all. She’s just getting _married_ and _giving her life_ up for this guy.”

Laura groans, loudly, at that, dropping her head to the dresser in front of her.

“Watch yourself, you’re gonna bruise and then I’m really gonna have to cake this makeup on your face.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Leave her alone.” Derek’s laughing, crossing his arms over his chest and rolling his eyes. “Nobody’s giving their life up.”

“Thank you, Derek,” Laura sighs, lifting her head from the wood surface and checking herself in the mirror just to make sure she really hadn’t made a mark on her face. “At least _someone_ has faith in my relationship.”

Cora snorts at that, a smile on her face that actually isn’t horribly malicious or sarcastic for once as she shakes her head gently and rolls her eyes.

“I have faith in your relationship, but you know I’ve always thought marriage is overrated and entirely stigmatized to brainwash women.”

“Wow Cor, don’t be so optimistic,” Derek taunts, and finally steps further into the room to put his hands on Laura’s shoulders, lightly rocking her back and forth. “Laura can be brainwashed if she wants.”

He gives her shoulders a squeeze and leans back when Laura turns to punch him, a grin stretching over his face.

“Thanks for the support, assholes.”

It goes quiet for a moment, and Derek’s almost grateful that there’s a knock at the door that ends the silence before it gets too overwhelming. If there was anything he didn’t have in common with his family it was communication skills – words weren’t Derek’s forte, whereas Laura and Cora could spew words like they were reading from a textbook.

So when the door opens slowly he breathes a sigh of relief, turning to look at who it is.

And, surprise surprise, it’s the kid from the bathroom; he makes eye contact with Derek first before shifting towards Laura and smiling, barely standing in the doorway with his hand grasping the wood frame.

“Hi, Laura, I was just wondering if it was okay if I took some pictures before the actual wedding. I’m thinking I could get some good shots of you getting ready with the girls but I don’t wanna just, like, _barge_ in. That cool?”

He steps into the room then, and Derek regrets the way he looks the kid up and down, mostly because he’s pretty sure he wasn’t at all subtle about it and knowing Cora she’ll start yapping her big mouth about it without a care that she’s embarrassing (and betraying) her brother. But the words never come, so he figures he’s safe, and he tries his hardest to act like a normal human.

Like he should be.

Because an attractive person should not be turning him into a mess.

Fuck.

“Yeah that’s fine, Stiles,” Laura says, and Derek’s _definitely_ glad he’s decided to keep all attention off this _Stiles_ kid because the face he makes at his name isn’t at all flattering. It can’t be real.

\---

It’s absolutely real.

Everyone keeps calling him by that _Stiles_ name the entire night, and it pisses him off.

Mostly because Derek can't seem to keep his distance from him for the rest of the ceremony and after party.

It's stupid, he knows. Who was he to think that just because he had some weird fucking infatuation with the kid that the universe would just magically help him avoid the photographer the rest of the evening?

It was impossible, one of the reasons solely being because _he was the photographer_. He _had_ to be everywhere: off to the side of the wedding isle, front row while Laura and Alex said their vows, in the middle of the open field where they had their first dance, at the tables where he photographed guests and sat down for a bite himself, even lingering inside the house and around the fucking bathrooms because he was only human and had to relieve himself _sometime_.

Shit, he was even there taking pictures of Derek when his second cousin (his mother's-cousin's-daughter’s-something or other) dragged him out to dance and he had to awkwardly find a rhythm with a 7 year old bouncing around at his feet.

It was also because Derek's subconscious was scoping him out. It was a mind game, a childish mind game he swore he stopped playing when he turned 18 because he had to be mature about shit and beating around the bush during relationships just wouldn't cut it anymore, but avidly avoiding someone because you were afraid of choking on your words _wasn't_ mature. It was an infatuation. A crush. Derek can't remember when the last time he had a fucking crush was, but it had to be a seriously long time ago because he completely forgot what an idiot he turned into.

Getting guys at the bar was easy; half of them were there for hookups like Derek was and while the other half maybe were just there for a fun night out, it really didn't take all that much convincing. Words didn't even have to be involved; all he needed was a quick look, and if their face read anything along the lines of _'take me home and bend me over your kitchen table'_ he went for it. It was easy. They all looked at him like that anyways.

But having to work for someone's attention? A someone who just might be _straight_? A someone who has _beautiful fucking features_ and childish eyes and such softness about them? Impossible. Derek’s brain was mush. It was embarrassing. He's surprised he hasn't just reverted back to baby language and started babbling his way through all the conversations he was having.

Honestly, he hadn't felt this dumb and strung out over a person in a long time, and all it did was make him feel asinine.

\---

One by one, guests leave the wedding, the amount of people becoming sparser and sparser as the night goes on and the coolness hits the air, the moon high and the mosquitos out. At this point he can tell it's only immediate family members and a few stragglers left, and he makes the decision to head into the house, wondering if that's maybe where Cora was and if she knew what her and his mother's plans were for the rest of the night.

As he steps inside he notices it's a lot less empty than it had been earlier on in the day. In fact he can't see anyone, but he can hear faint chatter coming from beyond the kitchen wall, so that's where he heads.

And it's confirmed that the universe hates him, because there's Stiles, leaning against the sink in all his glory with a beer bottle in hand and a smile plastered on his face. Surprisingly enough, Cora is next to him and they're practically hovering over each other looking at the pile of photographs in Cora's hands. If Derek didn't find Stiles attractive when he was done up in a suit (yeah, _okay_ ), then he definitely found him attractive with his jacket gone and his tie loose around his neck. His eyes are rimmed slightly pink, like he's just a bit tired or a bit drunk. Maybe both, but Derek assumes he's just worn out from staring through a camera lens the entire night.

"Der-Bear!" Cora nearly squeals when she sees Derek and Derek just huffs back at her. She was drunk; way drunk because there was no way in a thousand years she would ever call him that - _that name_ \- sober. "C'mere. I'm just showing Stiles some saucy bath pics of you when mom was living in that apartment."

Derek's face flushes what he's pretty sure is beet red, and although Cora definitely isn't fazed as she waves the picture around (and it looks like Stiles isn't either), that doesn't mean he's not allowed to groan in annoyance and storm over to where they're standing and glare at the image. It wasn't anything horrible, but Derek still doesn't like the fact that Stiles has now seen his bare ass as a baby and it was all Cora's fault.

Taking the pictures from Cora's hand and avoiding a burp she nearly exhales into his mouth, Derek sets the pile aside on the counter and takes Cora gently by the arm.

"I think you've had enough, Cor. _And_ I'm guessing you don't know where mom is?"

She hiccups and leans into Derek's side, nearly toppling him over with her sudden weight as she waves her hand in the air nonchalantly. "Somewhere out there."

"I saw her talking to your uncle by the tent," Stiles suddenly speaks up, and for a moment Derek had completely forgotten that Stiles was anywhere near them, much less the fact that he was standing a mere foot away and Derek was going to drop his sister if he didn't stop staring at him, shit.

"I can take her out there if you want. I haven't had much."

"No." Derek finds his voice, and mentally punches himself in the face for somehow always managing to sound like such a dick when he was flustered. The look of surprise and slight hurt on Stiles' face says it all, and he fumbles over his words. "I- No I mean. That's not what I meant I just-" He sighs, closing his eyes for a moment to calm himself. "I can do it, thank you."

Stiles shrugs.

"No problem."

\---

The first thing he hears when he steps back inside the house is the click of a camera, and the sound of Stiles' voice follows soon after he freezes.

"What are you doing?" Derek is standing in the foyer like a deer in the headlights, just watching Stiles lower the camera from his face to access the picture he'd just taken.

Stiles just shrugs, not looking up from his hands and says "Taking pictures of all the guests. I never got much of you."

_Yeah, probably because I spent my time avoiding you, so thanks for that._

"Oh." Derek's blowing it (when he should be blowing Stiles, let's be honest), and he breathes steadily through his nose, settling himself.

Luckily for him, Stiles either didn't seem to notice what an ass he was being, or he just didn't fucking care. Which, if that was the case, bless him. More people needed to be less caring like Stiles. (Although Derek's pretty sure if more people were like Stiles he'd be having heart palpitations left and right.)

"Yeah. Wanna have a beer?"

Derek looks at Stiles like he's just asked him to the Royal ball; he wants to drop to his knees and praise all things holy because yes, _fuck_ yes he wants a beer with Stiles.

He doesn't do any of that of course, barely nods his head either, but once again, Stiles doesn't give a shit and instead motions towards the kitchen, initiating Derek to lead the way.

"So you're Laura's brother then?" Stiles asks while rummaging through the fridge, and just for that split second, where he's bent over and reaching inside the compartment, Derek can see the stretch of his pants around his ass beautifully and he has to refrain from shoving his fist in his mouth and screeching.

"Yeah." He takes the beer from Stiles' hand when he offers it to him, raising it a little in thanks and sitting at the bar stool at the island counter, Stiles leaning on the other side of the corner beside him. "How'd you know?"

"Well I figured since you were Cora's brother you might be Laura's too, then."

Derek winces. Of course, right. Stiles wasn't _stupid_.

When Derek doesn't respond (and kind of just stands there sipping on his drink awkwardly) Stiles continues.

"So, _Der-Bear_ huh?"

Derek makes a face at that, scrunching his nose up and running a hand over his forehead; he should have seen it coming.

" _Yeaaah_ ," he drones, shaking his head and laughing. "Laura used to call me that to chastise me when we were younger. Cora kinda caught on to it and now she only calls me it when she wants to make me look like an idiot, apparently. It's Derek. Derek Hale."

"Stiles Stilinski." He outstretches his hand enthusiastically and Derek shakes it, looking him over because – again - that seriously _cannot_ be his real name. He thought everyone was just fucking around the whole night and that was a nickname.

 _Stiles_?

The man himself notices and shrugs. "Stiles isn't my real name, but when your real name is practically intelligible, Stiles is better than nothing. I'm pretty sure my dad doesn't even know how to pronounce it, if that's any sort of proof to go by. I’m actually Alex’s cousin, but I minored in photography during college so I like to think I know a thing or two about cameras."

"The fact that you have to go by Stiles is enough proof."

 _Of all things._ Of all _fucking_ things to comment on, Derek responds to the odd name he was just given to call the kid, and he wants to hide; he wants to excuse himself from the room and sit in his car and have a long talk with himself about manners and the concept of the English language.

But Stiles just raises his brow and kind of nods his head down, giving Derek this stare that makes him feel like he's just offended the kid if he didn’t see the smirk on his face; he goes to apologize either way.

"Oh, no, shit. I just meant-"

Stiles snorts out of nowhere, and it catches Derek off-guard. "It’s fine Derek, calm down.”

Letting his shoulders fall, Derek drops his head along with his poster and shakes it back and forth slowly, trying to somehow recompose himself so he wasn’t blowing this completely.

“I’m sorry. I’ve had a long day.”

“It’s not a big deal, I know what you meant by it.” The smile Stiles gives Derek reassures him for the most part – lets him know that he’s just overthinking things a bit.

“You know,” Stiles continues, glancing down at the bottle between his hands before looking back up again, right into Derek’s eyes. There’s slight pressure in his slacks, and Derek wills himself to get control. “I meant what I said before.”

Derek cocks a brow, doing his damnest to keep eye contact without faltering; usually he was good at intimidating stares, but rarely when he meant them. “Meant what?”

“That I hadn’t gotten enough photographs of you.”

“Oh.”

Stiles huffs a laugh, awkwardly, looking down again.

“Sorry. It’s a photographer thing; sometimes I see someone picture-worthy and it itches at me until I can get pictures of them. It calls for a lot of awkward encounters with random people. Doesn’t end well sometimes.”

Derek just stares, slow blinks and all. “And I’m picture-worthy?”

To put it blatantly, Stiles looks at him like he’s stupid; like he can’t believe those words would even come out of Derek’s mouth in that order. Like it was a crime, and he needed to be acquitted immediately.

Like that.

Stiles scoffs, “You have like, the most symmetrical face I think I’ve ever seen and your eyebrows are practically art. Like I’m pretty sure you were carved by Aphrodite herself. Fuck, I just- you’re a wet dream, Derek.”

Derek looks up at that, watches the smirk play at the corner of Stiles’ mouth as he picks at the label on the beer bottle. He’s sure he’s imagining it when Stiles’ gaze lifts and traces over his body once, then twice, and he swallows thickly, heat pooling in his stomach. Suddenly he wasn’t so out of his comfort zone. This was what he did – hookups. Stiles was fucking beautiful and it made him a mess but now that Derek knew he had the same intentions (and didn’t have to stumble over his words with small talk) the rest was smooth sailing. He knew how to do this. Confidence came soaring back to him in wingspans as wide as he was tall.

“Is that another photographer thing, or are you flirting with me, Stiles?”

“That depends,” Stiles retorts, the pink of his tongue coming out to wet his lips.

“On?”

“If you’ll let me photograph you.”

There almost isn’t enough time to think after that. One second they’re two feet away from each other, and the next Derek’s hand is around Stiles’ tie and he’s pulled halfway over the edge of the counter so their faces are almost touching, noses grazing just barely.

“This is okay?” Derek asks, trying to look past the split second moment of shock still written over Stiles’ expression, and he watches the way he nods almost violently, too excited for his own good as he exhales into Derek’s mouth, licking his lips again.

“Yeah, yeah this is fine. I’m staying in a room upstairs, we can- we can go up there and _wow_ you’re a lot more attractive than I realized, fuck.”

“Does that make you nervous?” Derek questions with the curve of a smile playing at his lips, loving how the roles have flipped and the way it causes a blush to creep over Stiles’ cheeks.

“A bit.”

\---

“So do you get to stay the night because you’re the photographer?” Derek plays when they’re upstairs, kicking the door closed with his foot and holding Stiles as close as possible, fist still snug around his tie.

“Partly,” Stiles says, struggling to form the words because of how close Derek had gotten them, their bodies pressed together. He leaves it at that and Derek doesn’t question him further, too busy focusing on getting his mouth on Stiles’. The smaller man damn near moans into Derek’s mouth at the press of his lips against his own, hands reaching up to clench his suit jacket in his palms for some sort of leverage as Derek nearly forces him back with how fervent he’s kissing him.

It’s all tongue and teeth, and the ugly smack of lips fills the silence in the room but neither of them care about the obscene noise, especially not when Derek’s hands slip around to Stiles’ back and trail south hesitantly, like he’s about to cross a line he’s not entirely sure he’s allowed to cross. Stiles catches onto his reluctance quickly and shamelessly reaches behind himself to cover Derek’s hands with his own, pushing them down until he can feel the press of Derek’s fingers as he cups his bottom.

The movement has Stiles arching on his toes, pushing his lower half into Derek’s more and the taller of the two retreats to smirk at the smaller man. He’s aiming for his eyes, really, but Stiles has other plans as he blushes and keeps his forehead pressed against Derek’s chest, letting the slightest of a chuckle out as the embarrassment of his excitement takes over and he feels this sudden urge to hide.

“Sorry,” he says softly, breathing it into Derek’s chest in a way that makes Derek want to run his fingers through his hair and reassure him he had nothing to apologize for.

“Eager?” Derek muses, speaking the word against the top of Stiles’ head and listening to the laugh that follows.

“Shut up.”

That’s all Stiles can get out for the moment, mostly because Derek decides to grip him tighter and anything else he wants to say is cut off with the gasp he lets out, right into Derek’s mouth when he tilts his head up to slot their lips together once more. Derek starts working at the buttons on Stiles’ shirt then, fumbling with them one by one until his bare chest is exposed and Derek can tug the dress shirt out from the hem of his pants and off of his shoulders. The tie follows a second later, the two breaking for only a moment so that Derek can take it from Stiles’ neck and toss it elsewhere.

He wants to undress Stiles fully after that, but Stiles can’t seem to stop rutting himself against Derek and it’s causing a thin haze to cloud over his thoughts like a film and there isn’t much else he can do other than focus on the way Stiles can’t seem to get them close enough. So Derek does what he thinks is best and he crouches slightly, enough so that he can get a firm hold of the tops of Stiles’ thighs just under the cusp of his ass, and he lifts him up all while making certain Stiles’ lips don’t leave his.

Derek takes a few short steps back quickly, sitting down on the edge of the bed when the backs of his knees hit the surface. His hands grip Stiles’ thighs, elbows bracketing him in and sitting him on his lap; Stiles cups Derek’s face then, keen as he tips his head back so that the angle is better; easier.

He mumbles something into Derek’s mouth after and Derek has to break them apart with heavy breaths to figure out what the hell it was.

“What?” Derek pants, digging his fingers into Stiles’ hips and glancing to his neck, getting the urge to suck hickeys into the skin that’s moving with every breath he takes.

“Off. Everything,” Stiles bosses him, motioning wildly towards Derek’s body as much as he can with what little space there is between them. Derek manages to get ahold of his wrists and hold him steady, smirking at the wide-eyed look Stiles is giving him and bringing him in slowly for a quick kiss.

“Take it off then,” he whispers against Stiles’ lips, and the smaller man complies without hesitation the second Derek releases him from his grip, going straight for the buttons on his shirt.

Once they’re completely undone and Stiles has finally gotten their upper halves matching and bare he drops his hands to the belt at Derek’s waist, dropping his head back when Derek nudges at his chin and starts mouthing at his throat. The moan Stiles lets out is damn near guttural and Derek can feel it on his lips, biting down just below Stiles’ ear and grabbing his ass.

“Okay, okay, fuck,” Stiles breathes harshly, pushing Derek away and down until his back is pressed to the mattress. Scooting back, Stiles climbs off of him and within seconds he’s gotten both his own and Derek’s pants off and he’s suddenly shy when he’s standing there in his underwear, the tight white briefs clinging to his form and not doing much to help hide the outline of his dick. The way he’s standing is awkward, fists clenched at his sides as he does his best to stare at Derek confidently, but Derek sees right through the charade and nods him over.

Stiles is cautious as he crawls back on the bed on his knees, shifting his weight over Derek’s body and sitting on his hips. He lets Derek run his hands up his sides, feeling the smooth skin and using his thumb to trace over the mole just under his right nipple.

Bringing himself up to his elbows, Derek flattens his palm on Stiles’ chest before sliding it up to his neck and pulling him down. Their cheeks brush, soft little pants sweeping over each other’s skin and raising goosebumps on Derek’s arms.

“Don’t be shy,” Derek says softly, like he’s afraid of making any quick movements; like it’s going to throw Stiles off and make him run away. He has a feeling Stiles trusts him, though (he’s sure there’s no way in hell he’d be agreeing to this if he didn’t), he’s just a bit timid now that he knows something is actually going to happen between them.

Prideful, however, Stiles gives Derek this sarcastic look that’s almost mocking him and he brushes it off nonchalantly.

“Shy? Nah.” His face falls slightly and he gets a bit serious, looking down like he had earlier when Derek first made a sincere move on him. “I’m fucking intimidated.”

Derek can’t help but laugh at him then, shaking his head unbelievably and pulling him in for a kiss. It’s his turn to tell Stiles to shut up, and he mumbles it against his lips as he drags his hands down, right over that ass that he can’t seem to get enough of. It makes Stiles grind against him, and he’s happy to feel that Derek’s just as worked up as he is, even if he’s better at hiding it than him.

If Stiles only knew just how worked up he had Derek before.

The next few minutes pass by in what feels like seconds. Derek takes every fleeting moment as an opportunity to memorize the dips and curves of Stiles’ body, mapping out the bow of his spine and the ridges of his shoulder blades, tracing down his hips to the dip in his lower back and over the curve of his bottom until he finally settles on the spot between his legs. He’s gentle with his touch, fingertips skimming over the cotton fabric before he actually puts pressure on Stiles, who hums into his neck; Derek can hear the shudder in his exhale.

“I want you,” Stiles mumbles, ending the sentence with a weak laugh and digging his fingers into Derek’s chest.

With his hands slipping into the band of Stiles’ boxer briefs Derek nods against him, kissing his chin and biting it just to elicit another snicker from the pale boy.

“Yeah?” He asks, and Stiles nods, confirming and giving Derek the go-ahead to slide his underwear off. Stiles sits up then, maneuvering and shuffling on top of Derek until his body is nude and exposed and Derek’s loving every second of it. He can’t take his eyes off of Stiles – how his chest is flushed and how the redness in his skin seemed to bloom beautifully against his fair complexion.

Everything about the moment was different, Derek decides; he hadn’t been so stupidly infatuated with someone he’d taken to bed in what seemed like forever, and he knew he just met Stiles but the odd connection they shared was undeniable. It was something Derek couldn’t ignore.

But Stiles peeling his briefs from his legs was definitely a good distraction.

He’s cold the instant Stiles leaves him, clambering off of the bed to stumble to his camera bag and shuffle through things. (And yes, Derek does take advantage of the opportunity to admire Stiles’ bare ass bent over and completely on display, and he thinks he feels his dick leak a bit at the thought of getting to sink into that in just a few seconds). When Stiles straightens back up and turns around his wallet is in his hands and he’s pulling a condom from one of the pockets, unashamed (as he should be) as he tosses it to Derek and watches him catch it swiftly and all too cocky.

Stiles stands where he is for a second, looking over Derek with this thoughtful sort of expression, and for a moment Derek almost thinks he’s changing his mind with the way he’s staring at him, squinting with his head tilted to the side; a deer in the headlights inquisitive stare.

Derek almost says something to him, but just as he parts his lips Stiles is already crawling back over him, this time settling further back on his thighs so that Derek has room to put the condom on. He’s a bit startled if he’s being honest, only by the sudden surge of confidence Stiles seems to have built up in those few seconds.

“Can I ride you?”

The words are spoken so softly Derek isn’t entirely sure he hears him correctly, but once it clicks he has to bite on his tongue to hold back the sputter he almost lets out, keeping his mouth focused on tearing the condom packet open with his teeth instead and rolling it on himself as he nods.

“Do I need to-“

“I should be good,” Stiles interrupts him, knowing what he’s going to ask before he even gets to it. He shoves two digits into his mouth to wet them and then reaches behind himself to crook his fingers inside of himself quickly, testing how easily he’d be able to take Derek. The image makes Derek’s cock twitch. “Yeah, just gotta go slow.”

He spits right on the tip of Derek’s dick and wraps his fingers around him to slick him up; Derek moans a little at that and braces himself when Stiles shifts on his knees above him and scoots forward, lining his dick up with his entrance. The head catches on the rim of his hole and Derek chokes on a gasp, letting it out in a deep sigh when Stiles lowers himself down and the tight heat stretches around him.

He moans finally, fingers grasping at Stiles’ sides, digging into skin while Stiles inches down agonizingly slow. It has Derek biting down on his bottom lip while Stiles is licking at his, mouth open and shiny with spit that Derek’s pretty sure is mixed with his own.

For a moment Derek can’t believe this is actually happening; he’s in awe at the fact that this fucking _magnificent_ freckled kid he’d been lusting over the entire goddamn night was currently sitting pretty on his lap, looking completely blissed out with his eyes closed and lips parted. He lets out these soft little whimpers when he starts rolling his hips, picking up a slow rhythm, and Derek grabs at the fleshy part of his thighs, mesmerized at the way the skin feels beneath his fingertips and how Stiles’ hands glide down his chest, over his own legs so that he can cover Derek’s fingers with his and they can lace them together.

He starts riding Derek proper then, a nice and constant steady rotation of his hips that has Derek sliding in and out of him brilliantly. The look on Stiles’ face is something Derek wants etched into his memory forever; something in the way he looks entirely at ease, like this is heaven and he’s totally okay with dying now.

And to Stiles, that was true. That was cool. If dying meant getting to ride an attractive man until his thighs ached and bruises were danced across his hipbones then sign him up a.s.a.p.

Long fingers unweave from Derek’s and skip across tight abs, sliding up over his shoulders until they’re pressed into the mattress besides Derek’s head and Stiles is arching over him. Hot breaths mix and fuse together and Derek can’t decide if he wants to taste Stiles or watch him, too in love with both soft eyelashes and a pouty cupid’s bow to choose. He settles on burying himself into Stiles’ neck instead, nuzzling into the expanse of the exposed throat in front of him and letting his mouth linger over the skin, just close enough so that his lips barely graze Stiles’ Adam’s apple when he opens his mouth to speak.

The words never come though, because Stiles is groaning deep enough in his chest that Derek can feel the vibrations of it against his own. He shuffles above Derek and then presses their foreheads together, kissing him roughly and hurriedly with his tongue and mumbling into his mouth, little incantations of _fuck_ and _so good_ and _please fuck me_ that Derek can barely make out.

The last phrase, however, hits him loud and clear and he takes a firm hold of Stiles’ ass, shoving him up so he’s hovering above Derek and has halted all movements, unable to move even if he wanted to (and _fuck_ he wants to, wants to grind back on Derek like his life depended on it. Like he’d die without it.)

Stiles ruts against him, whimpering ( _fucking_ _whimpering_ ) at the loss of all sensation with only the crown of Derek’s cock buried in him, and he pants to calm himself. Derek waits until Stiles’ eyes close and his tongue darts out to lick his lips before fucking up into him, forcing his eyes wide again. The air gets caught in his throat and he stalls all breathing for just a second, just until Derek holds him in place. Stiles understands quickly that he isn’t to move; he’s to stay still and let Derek fuck him with long and shallow thrusts that have him bouncing forward.

His cock hangs heavy between them, the shiny pink tip smearing precome over Derek’s belly button with every jerk and Stiles throws his head back when Derek bends his knees, planting his feet flat on the mattress so that he can drive into Stiles deeper and harder, good enough that he goes weak and loses all strength in his arms, collapsing against Derek’s chest.

The hands at his ass skate up to the small of his back and Derek wraps his forearms around the smaller man, nipping at his chin while Stiles’ hands move to caress the sides of Derek’s face, thumbs digging into stubble and sharp cheekbones. He takes turns kissing and moaning into Derek’s mouth, pausing every few seconds to exhale with soft shivers and start it all over again.

“Fucking- _fuck_ , Derek,” Stiles grunts when Derek manages to angle himself right over Stiles’ prostate, driving into it repeatedly when he realizes he’s found it (judging by the screwy look Stiles makes where his eyes are almost crossed and his brow tightens). “Please don’t stop.”

Stiles grates himself back against Derek’s cock, swiveling his hips in these little circular motions as he fucks him that drives Derek wild, crazed and feral as he pushes his tongue into Stiles’ mouth and kisses him. The sound of Derek’s thighs slapping against Stiles’ bum fill the quiet of the room, painfully loud in a way that should be embarrassing, especially with the door forgetfully unlocked and the chance of anyone walking by to hear _very_ possible.

Still, with Stiles’ very literal clouded mind (truly, what are thoughts anymore? The only thing he can make out is a blue fog and opaque swirls and the dull pressure of pleasure deep in his abdomen) and Derek’s motivation (and the sweat on his brow, his clammy fingertips pressing contusions into Stiles’ ass, and the hot gasps between them) neither of them can find it in them to care.

Not when Stiles is biting down on Derek’s bottom lip, swollen with kisses, and _definitely_ not when his moans raise a pitch higher and his body tenses. Derek feels Stiles’ knees squeeze into the sides of his stomach, right beneath his ribcage, just before the shudders rack over his body. The feeling of wetness across his chest comes immediately after, and it takes Derek a second to realize that _holy fuck,_ he’d just made Stiles come without being touched, and the sight of it was beautiful, the pale boy trembling and churning above him as he rides out his orgasm, cheek to cheek with the man beneath him.

The sight alone could have done it for him; just watching Stiles let go and shiver from the shockwaves going through his body was enough to tip Derek over, but it’s almost like Stiles wanted to torture Derek, because instead of sitting up or staying limp or doing _literally anything else_ , he stays put and lingers over Derek’s ear.

“Want you to come,” he slurs, hot breath splashing over Derek’s skin and sending tingles down his neck in tiny waves. “You’re so good, fucked me so good Der, please. Want it.”

And there it is. That does it. Derek digs his heels into the mattress and stills inside of Stiles, letting the relief soak through him as he spills into the condom and more or less growls into Stiles’ neck.

They lay silent on one another, exhaustion taking over with every little breath of air they try to catch. Stiles raises to his knees a few seconds later, far enough so that Derek slips out of him and he can slowly maneuver his way to sit next to him on the bed, thighs sore and adrenaline still pumping through his veins.

He gets a clear sight of Derek’s chest (more specifically of the mess he made on it), strings of come decorating the skin and drying onto the fine line of hair trailing down the center of his stomach and he immediately lights up, cheeks going red and eyes opening wide.

“Shit,” Stiles titters, giving his bottom lip the slightest of a bite to distract himself from making eye contact with the man lying next to him _covered in his come_. “Sorry about that. Should’ve probably asked first or something before just, you know, jizzing all over you.”

Brows furrowing, Derek gives him a crooked stare, head cocked to the side and all, before he finally gets what Stiles is talking about and looks down at himself. A hand raises, and Stiles watches as Derek runs tentative fingers through the mess and looks over his fingers for not even a second before popping them in his mouth and making perfect eye contact with Stiles as he sucks them clean. Stiles lets out a shameless moan, chewing on his lip harder and making little swatting motions at Derek.

“Don’t do that,” he whines, practically falling off the bed when he goes to stand and find his clothes in the chaos on the floor, only grabbing for his boxers and pulling them on swiftly. When he’s standing straight again Derek is sitting up, peeling the condom off and tying it. He looks around, trying to find a wastebasket that unfortunately doesn’t seem to be anywhere in sight, but the problem’s quickly solved when Stiles strides forward, arm outstretched and fingers flexing, opened and offering. Derek just stares at his open palm, like he’s insane and he’s _seriously_ not offering to throw away his dirty condom.

But Stiles doesn’t budge. Instead, he nods in confirmation and shrugs like it’s nothing.

“Fair’s fair,” he says, snatching the rubber from Derek’s hand before he has a chance to hold it out of reach. “I got my jizz on you; I can live if I get your jizz on me. I’ll take it to the bathroom.”

He turns and steps towards the door, stopping before he grabs the handle and raising his hand a bit to point back at Derek. “Stay. I’ll get a towel for said jizz.”

\---

“So, do you always offer to throw out used condoms for guys you have sex with?” Derek asks with the rag in hand, sitting at the edge of the bed and scrubbing at the skin on his stomach.

Stiles is almost fully dressed now, loose pajama pants hanging low on his hips and Derek sneaks looks at the starkness of his back, counting the moles he can catch before Stiles throws his shirt on. He gets to four when they’re gone.

Hopefully not for good.

It’s then that Derek realizes that he’s a bit too naked now in comparison to Stiles; he’s okay with it, but having a conversation with a certain something a bit too exposed wasn’t really in his best intentions at the moment, and he glances to where his underwear has somehow landed on the armrest in the corner of the room. He doesn’t really remember how that happened but it doesn’t stop him from standing up to retrieve it anyways. And yeah, he definitely notices how Stiles watches his every step; can feel his eyes plastered to his back in a stupidly adorable way. Fuck this kid.

“Only the ones I like, but, like, you can stay the night if you want,” Stiles shrugs, trying hard to seem nonchalant about it (although Derek can see right through the blush and awkward twinge in his neck) as he runs a hand through his hair and motions towards the bed. “You don’t have to, might be weird in the morning if someone walks in like _‘woah, what’s Derek doing in your room’_ but I don’t think they’ll mind and-“

“I’ll stay.”

Stiles beams.

“Nice! Uh, after you.”

Giving a roll of his eyes, Derek walks past Stiles and grabs him by his pajama pants, dragging him towards the bed and pushing him down on it. It takes a few tries of clumsy shifting and odd positions but they finally get comfortable with Derek on his back and Stiles against his chest (which was practically forced, by the way. Stiles had zero say in it but Derek wasn’t stupid and could tell that Stiles just wanted to cuddle).

“You’re weird,” Derek says before the silence can take over; it’s an attempt to lessen the _weirdness_ in the air but honestly, he probably just made it worse with that lovely statement.

“ _Thanks_.”

“ _No_ , fuck,” Derek huffs and digs his fingers into Stiles arm affectionately. “Sorry. I’m stupid. Words are hard, that’s not what I meant.”

Stiles snorts and squeezes back, fingertips digging into Derek’s tummy (which flutters at the memories of him doing that just moments before). “You’re good, man. Words suck. Go on.”

“You just – you were so talkative and confident getting me up here but once we started you got shy. Not that that’s a bad thing I just… noticed it.”

Stiles makes this little humming noise of confirmation and Derek feels him shrug from underneath his hold.

“Could say the same about you, _Derek_.”

Derek’s brows furrow, thick and heavy across his forehead.

“How?”

“Dude, you went from a stutter machine to a fuck machine, so we’re even – just flip-flopped. Besides, in my defense I get _way_ too in my head during sex. I get all enthusiastic beforehand and then when I realize we’re actually doing something it’s like _‘damn, how’d we get here? Who cares that feels great, man._ ’ Plus I was overwhelmed. So, like, I have a lot of excuses. What are yours?”

The question catches him off-guard for some reason, but Derek takes a moment to think it over before just giving Stiles a straightforward answer.

“I haven’t been in a relationship in a while so I’m not good at the whole flirting aspect of it. But I’m good at hookups. I didn’t wanna fuck it up if you were flirting, but you seemed more interested in getting me up here so I kinda just went for it… You know, didn’t I _just_ say I wasn’t good at words?”

“You’re attractive when you’re flustered, it’s okay.”

Derek huffs exasperatedly and resists his urge to thump Stiles on the back of his head, leaving that for days where they’ve become more acquainted.

“I am interested in other… _associatively intimate_ things, though. If you are.”

“Like what?”

“Oh my god, you’re transparent.” And Stiles actually thumps _him_ across the forehead, sitting up and crossing his legs beneath himself. The look on his face tells Derek he’s thinking; and he’s thinking hard, lines forming in his forehead with his lip between his teeth, gnawing onto skin that Derek’s sure is worn and raw

“Can I take those pictures now?” he asks, leaning towards his camera bag a few feet from the bed like he’s waiting for Derek’s say so before he goes to grab it in an over-enthusiastic manner. He sways, impatiently waiting for Derek’s response because he seems to take a bit too long to think it over, a smug gaze on his face that forces Stiles to stare back questioningly until Derek finally decides to speak up.

“You mean like nudes? Or just regular photographs?”

The reply has Stiles giving Derek a wry sort of grin, tongue pressing to the front of his teeth while his eyes linger down the expanse of Derek’s body, tilting his head and nodding like he’s not at all opposed to the idea (and why would he be?).

“Well, give me a second to change memory cards while you get all _nakey_ and what-not; I am not going to risk someone going through wedding pics and finding you in all your glory – unless you’re some sort of closet freak and into that?”

Stiles asks it like it’s a question he _actually_ wants Derek to respond to and it’s not just rhetorical, and once Derek catches on he grimaces.

“No, no, just – don’t show them to anyone else.”

“I’m not an asshole, Derek, I can edit them and show you another time.”

Derek smiles at that, sitting up to scoot towards the edge of the mattress where Stiles is still sitting, more relaxed now that he’s not in a position to leap off it in a second. Stiles watches him as he draws nearer, all smirks and condescending looks that make Stiles want to hide in a shell he wishes he had.

“Another time, hm? So you want to do this again?”

Stiles groans.

“Yes you fucking oaf. You’re attractive, you can do _amazing_ things with your mouth, and so far you’re not bad company so don’t taunt me for wanting to get acquainted with more than just your dick.”

A stifled laugh comes from Derek’s mouth and he finds himself burying his head into Stiles’ shoulder, placing a hand on his thigh and tracing his thumb against the thin material of his boxers.

“I’m not taunting you, I’m just glad you asked me so that I didn’t have to be the one to do it.”

He can’t see Stiles nods but he feels the gentle rocking of his body when he does, watches Stiles’ hand as it lays on top of his own and pats him.

“You’re pretty horrible at communicating aren’t you?” Stiles asks, soft-spoken so that Derek knows he isn’t being _too_ malicious in his teasing. “Is this going to make our fights that much worse because you’re going to keep all your emotions bottled up like a pre-teen emo?”

“I think we should maybe have that date before we talk about fights.”

“You’re definitely right,” Stiles says, making eye contact with Derek when he lifts his head for maybe a second before looking down towards his crotch, turning quickly to stare at his camera bag. “So… _now_ can I take those pictures?”

Derek laughs and lays back on the bed, waiting until Stiles is staring at him before nodding, slipping his thumbs into the band of his briefs.

Stiles almost forgets to change the memory card.

**Author's Note:**

> me: consistently doesn't know how to end fics and will never know how to end fics  
> thanks for reading!!


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